


Birthdays

by anonstarbuck



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 12:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9895790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonstarbuck/pseuds/anonstarbuck
Summary: Scully's birthday on the roadMulder's birthday in the unremarkable houseDrabbles.





	1. Scully

Scully’s hair hadn’t been red for almost a year. He didn’t think it was possible for him to lose count of the towns they’d swept past, trying to put time and distance away from them and the people hunting them down. But he had. There were just too many gas stations, too many roadside diners to count. With the passing of each, she laughed less, smiled less.

Somewhere in middle-of-nowhere Nebraska, while she’s out buying groceries and hair dye, he finds the ribbon of an old gift bag and grins. It is February 23rd and he’s remembered. He makes the bed.   
  
Scully’s face is set like stone when she lowers her shopping to the floor and looks for the keys of yet another seedy motel room. She thinks of her mom and wonders how’d they would spend today together, if they could see each other again. She shrugs away the tightening in her chest and turns the key.  
  
The door swings opens and she finds Mulder waiting for her naked like the day he was born. He is sprawled face up and spread-eagled on the bed, red ribbon tied around his fully erect penis trying his damnedest to look dead serious, but the almost imperceptible quiver on the corner of his lips gives him away.  
  
She leaves the groceries where they are and walks in, closing the door behind her, poker-faced. She strips off her clothes as she walks towards him and when she sits on the bed and pulls at the end of the ribbon to unravel her present, their eyes meet, gleeful, and they both throw their heads back and laugh and laugh and laugh like they did once under the rain, in a cemetery. They wipe away tears and lock grinning lips and make love every which way that day, until one of them finally remembers the bags outside their door.


	2. Mulder

He wakes with the shift of weight on the bed, the sky a deep purple, blooming and indecisive about whether it is morning or still night. _Fucking dog_ , he thinks to himself and turns to lie on his back, eyes still closed.   
  
But really, he loves the dog. He loves that Scully just took the damn thing, no questions, no permission. It’s not like her to be so impulsive, but then again, she’s not one to walk away from a dog named Daggoo after Queequeg. After Starbuck, after Ahab. He loves that the small white thing is building a bridge between the chasm of darkness that she claims had divided them.   
  
He appreciates the soft sounds of Daggoo’s little feet padding into the kitchen in the mornings while he’s brewing the coffee. He misses her, and still makes enough for two. Even though she’s not in the house with him, still living in that apartment building in Washington that she refuses to decorate but refuses to move out of, she trusts him enough to leave the dog at their unremarkable house while she’s away during work trips.   
  
Mulder sighs and feels the dog wriggling its way under the covers to get at his feet. The weight on the bed is heavier though–too heavy. His stomach pools with dread, his lids flutter, adrenaline trying to rid himself of sleep. He begins to open his eyes, and only then does he sense and then immediately recognises, first, the perfume, and then, familiar lips wrapping themselves gently around his morning erection like silky wrapping paper.   
  
He peeks under the duvet and finds bright blue eyes looking back at him, bottomless and mischievous, a pink tongue circling the head. He feels his chest tighten with the view. The unforgotten domestic beauty of it makes him want to cry.  
  
“Thank god it’s not the dog.” he grins at her and she smiles back as she takes more of him into her mouth.   
  
She strokes the curve of his oblique and stops for a moment to say, “Thank you for taking care of him. He’s downstairs eating breakfast.”  
  
“And you’re up here having yours?”   
  
The statement earns him a nip on his inner thigh which goes directly to his groin and he stifles a moan.  
  
“Something like that. Also, you’re up next. Happy birthday, Mulder.”   
  
He flings the covers aside to watch her as the first rays of morning filter through the window and light up the slow-moving dust particles, the copper in her hair. He shifts and supports himself with one arm to reach forward to stroke her face.  
  
“Stay, Scully. Please stay. I’ll make cake. One for us and one for the dog.”


End file.
